


O' Christmas Triage!

by Low_Key_Loki



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Deaf Clint Barton, Have some fluff angst, I shall call it flangst, M/M, Possible Continuation, Sorry Not Sorry, Thor Is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-06 18:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5426495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Low_Key_Loki/pseuds/Low_Key_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony Stark wants something, he'll make a deal with the devil, or at least Loki. When the press catches wind, it's up to Pepper and the Avengers to clean up his PR disaster.</p><p>Part of Feelstide 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	O' Christmas Triage!

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: There is an INCIDENT that happens in early December that leaves the Avengers in need of some good PR. Pepper arranges for them to do something for kids in the foster system/underprivileged kids. This brings up all sorts of feels.
> 
> Warning: The author would like to express her deep and heartfelt apologies for not having apologies to give. I don't know why my brain took it this way, but I kind of liked it. Stand back, I'm doing ~~science~~ fanfic!

“You know, Agent, I’m no expert, but somehow I don’t think flipping someone the bird is correct American Sign language,” drawled Tony, dodging the green felt shoe that was whipped at his head and failing miserably, “nor is it in the holly, jolly spirit.”

 

Phil watched a seething Clint level a deadly glare at his teammate before stalking off with as much dignity as a grown man dressed as one of Santa’s elves, minus one belled shoe, could. He held out his hand to retrieve it from “Santa” and couldn’t stop the sigh, “You realize, Mr. Stark, that you’re lucky the bird and a felt shoe is all that came flying at you. Call him Legolas again and he might break out his bow. You’re the one that convinced an alien god that Queens needed a king.”

 

Tony snorted and waved the warning away. “What’s a sacrificial offering of one borough when we know what the abominable snowman can do with his glow stick of destiny? Priorities, Agent. Besides, it’s _Queens_.” When Phil froze, so did Tony, realizing exactly what he did because genius did not mean tactful. “There’s a really angry redhead behind me, isn’t there?”

 

“Why yes, Tony, there is. I’m going to go make sure Natasha and Barnes haven’t made a break for it. Pepper, lovely to see you,” said Phil as he left him to the tender mercies of the gimlet-eyed Pepper Potts. Oh, he was not getting caught in between those two again as Stark tried to explain why he felt that it had been a good idea to make a bargain with Loki, trading him Queens, New York in exchange for the promise that he would not stir up trouble during the “Stark-Potts Bahamas Incident of 2015”—quotes needed just to emphasize the world of PR hurt that had put on the Avengers, thank you very much.

 

Tony muttered at him under his breath before round 10 of this now familiar argument commenced. Pepper had busted her behind to set up some events, including today’s at the orphanage in Queens, to try to stem the bad press. With only a little token complaint, most of the Avengers had agreed. Today though, well, Clint was moody.

 

Pepper had had the foresight to check with the various members for this one. She had worried about Clint and Natasha most and if Phil was honest, so had he. Natasha took it in stride and stated pragmatically that it was very hard for her to miss what she never had. Family had been a foreign concept to the tiny Russian girl that had been exploited and molded. _Besides,_ she told them plainly, making eye contact with each one of them, _she was no longer a girl and she had more brothers and sisters than she knew what to do with. Seriously, could they give her a little space?_

 

Clint had been much quieter, choosing instead to fall back on his defense mechanisms of really terrible humor to change the subject if asked directly. It wasn’t until Phil had taken him aside when they were alone that he actually let him in on where his head was at. Loki. Loki and children, some of whom were in that godawful place because Loki had daddy issues and wanted to throw the mother of all temper tantrums for attention. He was having a hard time wrapping his head around it because he had been there once upon a time before he and his brother Barney took off.

 

“Not having parents at the holidays sucks, Phil, but I can’t imagine how I would have felt if someone who was supposed to save them and didn’t came in and tried to cheer me up about it,” he had said quietly, his fingers working even as he spoke, a nervous habit he had picked up when his hearing had been damaged. “I would never say no, but I don’t want to force anyone to relive the worst day of their life to fix Stark’s screw up.”

 

Let it not be said that Clint had not made progress in dealing with his emotions. Sure, he didn’t talk about them to anyone but Phil and maybe Natasha, but once upon a time, that conversation would have sent him running from the room. Tony Stark being Tony Stark, however, had his ways—Phil was pretty sure he named this one Friday. He missed Jarvis—and in true Starkian fashion overcompensated, deciding they must all dress up as Christmas characters rather than their avenging alter-egos.

 

That was why Phil walked into his living room to see his husband, still dressed in green and bells, trying to explain the strangeness that was Thor’s costume to a very confused thunder god. “My lady, Jane has explained your yule customs, but I do not understand, Barton. Why am I dressed like a ruminant mammal bearing my name?” he asked, taking the reindeer antlers from atop his head and looking at them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

 

“Uh, what now?”

 

“You still don’t do your homework, do you Barton?” asked Phil, startling an amused smirk out of his husband. “It was in the packet I put together after New Mexico. Donner means “thunder” in German and is derived from one of Thor’s regional names, Donar.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Clint’s cheek as he passed into the study to grab a copy of the packet.

 

“Riiiight, well, that would be why Thor. Cartoons are freakin’ weird,” Clint said with a shrug, watching Phil suspiciously. “As to the why, it’s Stark. He doesn’t need—aww, Phil, no. If I didn’t read it after Hammer-Gate, I’m not reading it now. I could just ask Thor.”

 

Thor just shook his head with a chuckle as Phil dropped a thick folder on Clint’s lap. He was glad they had each other. “Indeed, you could, but I fear you would not. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Potts asked that I be on hand should the Captain and Sargent Barnes plan a retreat. Lady Natasha also promised to show me how to forge weapons from your candied canes.” He took his leave, leaving Phil to worry that Natasha might stage a revolt with candy cane shanks.

 

* * *

So it was only a little while later that the Avengers showed up to the event. Gone were Iron Man, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Agent Coulson, Thor, Captain America and the former Winter Soldier and in their place was Santa and Mrs.— _Ms if you know that’s good for you, Stark!—_ Claus, two of Santa’s elves, Donner the reindeer, Heat Miser and Snow Miser respectively, candy cane weapons safely removed. Much to his dismay, Phil did have to provide new candy for them to pass out to the children. He could only hope he had some good karma coming.

 

Everyone was in high spirits and cheerful, except Clint. He was watchful, looking into tiny faces for rejection, fear, anger. He played the part well enough—he had worked for SHIELD for years and never would have survived without that skillset—but Phil knew him and tried to tread that line of giving him support without being suffocating. Suffocating was a hard thing to judge on a good day with Clint so today was just oodles of fun.

 

After a minor blow out that involved a lot of language that was not family friendly—but luckily most children didn’t understand American Sign Language— they took their separate corners. Clint glared at the back of Phil’s head so hard that he almost jumped when he felt a little hand set down on top of his. Squatting down to get on the same level, he was brought face to face with the prettiest, if not saddest, set of green eyes. “Excuse me sir, are you Hawk Guy?”

 

Clint swallowed a lump of emotion in his throat and smiled at the little boy. _Oh, this was gonna hurt_. “Yeah, but my friends call me Clint. What’s your name, kiddo?”

 

“Lucas,” the child said softly. “The other elf said you were sad and thought the kids would be mad you came.”

 

“He did, did he?”

 

“Yep, but I’m not. You guys are heroes,” Lucas exclaimed, his eyes bugging in that way that only children can pull off. “I lost my parents, but you guys saved me and my brother. I miss them, but my mom wouldn’t want me to stay mad. She said that was ugliness.”

 

Clint flicked his gaze over to the watchful Phil and gave him a slightly tight smile before looking over the kid in front of him. He was small and pale with hair dark as pitch and eyes that sparkled with mischief. It made him twitch a little, but he replied, “You sound pretty smart for someone your age.”

 

Caught. There was that mischievous glint in the eye again. “I’m an old soul.” Clint had to be imagining it.

 

He was on edge. That’s all it was, right? “Thanks a lot, Lucas,” he said, almost cheering when his voice came out strong and steady. He just had to roll with this. “Has anyone ever taught you how to make candy cane daggers?”

 

Mischief. “I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
